


Oxidation

by MortalCyn



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Mind Games, Murder Husbands, Post-Canon, Post-Fall (Hannibal), Testing limits, Unfinished Business, settling grudges
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 17:33:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17411231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MortalCyn/pseuds/MortalCyn
Summary: The rest of the world believes that Will Graham died from injuries received at the hands of Francis Dolarhyde. Will is content to allow them to go on believing the lie, having grown to appreciate the simple joys of anonymity and freedom from expectations. Until his host and protector, Hannibal Lecter, makes it known that he has no intentions of living a life of law-abiding seclusion. How far will Will go to protect his newfound peace and quiet, as well as his evolving connection to Hannibal? He's about to find out.Rated Explicit for extreme violence and sexual content in later chapters.





	Oxidation

**Author's Note:**

> I only started watching Hannibal years after it ended, and like most fans I felt that it definitely could've gone on longer. This is just my attempt to explore one of any number of possibilities for the continuation of Will and Hannibal's uniquely compelling story. I am new to this fandom, but I will do my best!

The human body was a marvelous machine, capable of all manner of impressive feats. One beating heart, pulse slightly elevated at present moment, sending blood throughout the veins. A pair of lungs, drawing in precious air, somewhat chilly, but welcome nonetheless. Two eyes slowly opening, vision blurry from disuse, striving to identify unfamiliar shapes. And a brain that had long lay all but dormant, synapses firing into life, working to make some sense of the unknown. 

_I’m alive._

As Will Graham’s eyes adjusted to the faint light given off by what appeared to be a bedside lamp, he slowly began to piece together the particulars of his surroundings. There was a mattress beneath him, supporting his form. A thick blanket and sheet lay atop him. He was in bed. Not a hospital bed as he might’ve expected, but a bed that was perfectly normal in all respects. There were no life-saving machines nor medical equipment within view. There were only dressers, one tall, one long, a single curtain-covered window, and two doors, none of which was familiar to him. This place and everything in it was a mystery, one which grew more confusing by the moment. He knew nothing, save the one incontrovertible fact that he instinctively felt to be true.

_I should not be alive._

A sudden jolt struck him, the sensation of falling, the memory of going into the water.

Will closed his eyes again, convinced there must be some mistake. The images were all coming in a rush now. The confrontation with Francis Dolarhyde, the gunshot, that brief moment when he had allowed himself to entertain the possibility of permitting Dolarhyde to kill Hannibal before changing his mind, being stabbed, fighting on the patio, and then finally the two of them killing Dolarhyde together and admiring the dark beauty of spilled blood in the moonlight. The certainty of his impending death had finally allowed Will to lower his inhibitions enough indulge in a moment of pure weakness, permitting Hannibal to hold him, and in that moment before they fell over the cliff, Will had felt true peace for perhaps the first time in his entire life. 

_Hannibal must’ve saved me again._

Will opened his eyes. The sheets fell away as he sat up, the chill of the air against his bare skin serving to hasten his full return to consciousness. He was too preoccupied to feel self-conscious about his nudity, instead tossing the covers completely aside so that he could better see with his own eyes the story of what had happened to him. There was not much to tell. Despite the room’s spartan appearance, his injuries had apparently been treated with the utmost of care. The only evidence of his misadventure was a faded scar along his abdomen from where Dolarhyde had stabbed him. He ran his fingers over it tentatively, impressed at its smoothness. The lack of stitches meant that it had healed some time ago. _How long have I been here? And where exactly is here, anyway?_

His eyes continued to scan the room, absently taking note of the furniture. Given the plainness of the décor, Will determined that it must be a guest bedroom. The space was not large enough for the master, and there was no adjoining bathroom suite that he could see. The window coverings were not exactly thin, yet he could tell that it was clearly nighttime. He realized with some alarm that the door was open, and he half-expected to see Hannibal standing there in the hallway watching him as he turned.

There was no one there. 

Will turned back, his eyes landing on the nondescript long dresser. _Whatever the hell is going on, I hope there are clothes._

He dressed in a noiseless hurry, fingertips flying as his mind fervently sorted through a hundred different scenarios. There could be any number of explanations for what was happening. There were in fact too many possibilities for him to reliably ascertain the most correct conclusion, but of one thing he was certain; Hannibal was here, in this house with him, right now. 

Though he had not yet seen any evidence of his presence, not glimpsed so much as a strand of hair, Will could feel it as keenly as though he were currently in the room. There could be no doubt. The knowledge of Hannibal’s nearness in and of itself was concerning enough, given that Will was unarmed and unable to call anyone for assistance. But the thing which was truly making the hair rise along the back of his neck, was the smell drifting through the air. 

It was the scent of roasted meat, freshly out of the oven, and it made Will’s stomach growl.

Hannibal was making dinner.

 

\---

 

Hannibal paused, his long fingers hesitating for the briefest of moments before laying the knife down on the table beside the plate. Since the initial creak of the floorboards, there had been nothing but silence from upstairs. That told Hannibal two things, that Will was awake, and that he knew enough to be careful not to make much noise. Whether that was instinctual on Will’s part or an indication of how much he remembered of the events of the past several months, Hannibal did not yet know. After all, the evidence was still somewhat inconclusive on the level of awareness humans retained while in a coma. It was possible that Will remembered a great deal, just as it was possible that he did not. 

“No matter. We shall find out soon enough.”

At his low words, the sole female occupant of the house stirred, her eyes fluttering open. “I take it from your ramblings that Will has finally awakened?”

“He has been awake for some time now,” Hannibal replied. He turned to look at his guest. “I have been gradually easing him out of his coma for the past several days.”

“And now he’s up,” Bedelia sighed. Her eyes slid towards the hallway, while the rest of her remained motionless in her chair. She could no longer feel the restraints that bound her to her seat, so powerfully had the sedatives taken effect. Nor could she feel any fear of her approaching death. Even the sight of her lone remaining leg plated gracefully upon the table, cooked to perfection with steam still rising from the sauce that Hannibal so carefully ladled over it, failed to evoke any particular emotion. 

“He is,” Hannibal agreed. He set the sauce bowl aside. “Soon we shall eat.”

“You’ll forgive me if I choose to abstain,” Bedelia replied, still watching the hallway with as much concentration as she could muster. “I don’t think that I have the energy to partake.”

“Very well,” Hannibal replied, selecting a bottle of wine from the nearby rack. “I personally would hate to die with an empty stomach, but you have been such a courteous guest for these past months that I do not take offense at your refusal.”

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t wait for Will before you start the meal,” Bedelia countered. “For all you know, he might be coming to kill you.”

“He might,” Hannibal agreed. He opened the bottle of wine, muffling the pop of cork with a cloth. “That is one of the things I find so fascinating about Will. No matter how much I learn about him, I am never able to predict exactly what he will do.”

“You’re obsessed with him,” Bedelia spat, bitterness bleeding into her tone. “You remind me of some deranged, delusional fan who stalks their favorite celebrity—”

“Now Bedelia,” Hannibal cut in, his voice curt. “I’ve just said that you have been courteous. Let us not end your time here on a sour note.”

A string of sluggish laughter bubbled up from within the former psychiatrist. “Hannibal please,” she sighed, rolling her glassy eyes. “I am past the point of pretending to care about your opinion of me. The only thing I care about now is living just long enough to see the look on your face when your precious Will proves to you once and for all that he is not what you think.”

 

\---

 

Although the floorboards were nearly as cold as ice, Will was thankful that he hadn’t thought to put on shoes. Even with his bare feet carefully balancing the weight of his form, the floor still creaked at a level that would’ve been unnoticeable to anyone else. The entire thing only served to confuse him more. Will was certain that Hannibal knew by now that he was up and walking around, yet he hadn’t made any attempt to intercept him.

Will had to admit that the prospect of escape, while tempting, was not the smartest course of action. _Escape from where exactly?_ He had no way of knowing where he was, or how much time had passed. If he were to dash outside into the night, what might be find? A country where he didn’t speak the language? Or worse, miles of wilderness stretched out before him? Unarmed and unknowledgeable he would be at an extreme disadvantage, to say nothing of his physical weakness. Again he wondered just how long he had been asleep. 

Will needed answers, and unfortunately Hannibal was the only one who could provide them.

As Will descended the old wooden staircase, he could hear voices drifting from somewhere in the house. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up immediately the moment he recognized Hannibal’s low timbre, the tone as softly unassuming as ever. A faint memory washed over him, the sound of Hannibal’s voice at his bedside. He couldn’t make out the words, only his voice, the tone soothing and disturbingly comforting. 

Will paused at the foot of the stairs, his eyes drawn irresistibly to the oak door with the stained glass panel directly to the right of him. He stared at it, trying to work out whether that door led to salvation or death from exposure. He could feel the cold coming through the glass. He knew know at least that it was wintertime, wherever they were. 

Will turned away from the door, resolved to put that option in the back of his mind for another time. He was immediately startled by the horrifying specter of his own reflection, staring back at him dumbly from a large rectangular mirror on the foyer wall. He was struck at once by how thin and pale he looked. It had the undesirable effect of making him appear even more frail than he felt. He realized for the first time that Hannibal had been shaving him, based upon his well-trimmed shadow that was just barely visible along his cheeks and jawline. 

The next item that caught his eye caused his breath to catch in his throat. There on the large wooden sideboard situated beneath the mirror was a handgun. It was a stark reminder to Will that no matter how much he learned about Hannibal, he was never able to entirely predict what he would do. Deliberately leaving a gun in plain sight for him to find was certainly not something that Will would’ve expected. _Maybe he wants me to run. Maybe he wants to hunt._

Will’s stomach rumbled again, reminding him of his most pressing reason for coming downstairs. Maybe that was part of the game. Feed him, arm him, then pursue him. Although Will doubted that Hannibal would go through all the effort of saving his life again just to kill him now, he also knew that he couldn’t rule it out. He picked up the gun and continued down the hall, moving quietly in the direction of the voices.

As he entered the dining room, gun raised, Will found himself greeted by a sight both familiar and disturbing. Hannibal stood at the middle of a mid-sized dining table, tenderly carving a piece of meat to set upon a plate. He was dressed as impeccably as Will had ever seen him, a dark gray cashmere sweater paired with black merino wool slacks. Unlike Will, he didn’t appear to have been missing any meals, looking every inch as dangerous as always.

Feeling Will’s eyes upon him, Hannibal finally turned to acknowledge his guest. He was utterly unsurprised to see the gun being pointed in his direction. “Good evening Will. It is nice to see that you are feeling well enough to join us.”

 _Us. The other voice._ Will finally tore his eyes away from Hannibal to fully take in the scene before him.

Seated at the far end of the table was Dr. Bedelia DuMaurier. She had been reduced to a limbless torso, like Dr. Abel Gideon before her. Unlike her predecessor, she was denied the comfort of a bed, instead strapped securely into her dining chair, the IV stand at her side pumping cloudy fluid into her veins. Her glossy eyes were fixed on Will, the slow rise and fall of her chest the only movement.

Considering the numerous individuals who had the misfortune of crossing Hannibal’s path, Will was actually relieved to see her, of all people. He didn’t know if that made him a monster, but he found the reality far preferable to the hypothetical. 

“Well? Are you going to shoot?” Hannibal questioned. “Or shall we have dinner?”

Will’s eyes glanced between Hannibal and Bedelia, the pistol steady in his hand.

“Shoot him,” Bedelia sighed, her breathing labored. “You already know he is going to kill us both.”

Hannibal made no attempt to deny nor confirm Bedelia’s statement. He simply continued to watch Will, waiting to see what he would do.

Finally Will lowered the gun. He saw a single tear fall from the corner of Bedelia’s eye, but it failed to move him. She was right about one thing anyway, Hannibal was going to kill her, most likely whatever was being fed into her veins had already begun the process. Her fate had been sealed since the moment she made her devil’s bargain with Hannibal, years before Will had ever entered the picture. Will was just thankful that it wasn’t some innocent bystander at the end of the table, as he honestly didn’t know what he would’ve done.

The matter settled, Hannibal resumed pouring the wine. “My dear Will, I fear you shall never understand how intriguing it is, that after everything that has transpired between us, you still manage on occasion to surprise me.” He moved around to the place he had set for Will and pulled the chair out, gesturing for the other man to have a seat.

Will slowly walked the rest of the way into the dining room. He sat down at the place that Hannibal had prepared for him, determined to see this through, whatever it was. He watched as Hannibal filled his wine glass, the dark liquid swirling around the bowl. “I’m not a fool, Hannibal. I know by now that you would never have allowed me to approach you with a loaded gun.” After a moment’s hesitation, he dismissively deposited the gun upon the table.

Hannibal carefully set the wine bottle down before calmly picking up the gun and pointing it towards Bedelia. The sound of the small caliber bullet being fired into her temple was barely audible. Hannibal watched dispassionately as his former psychiatrist slumped forward over the table, her blonde tresses cascading down around her plate, before turning back to Will. “It would seem that I am still capable of surprising you, as well.”

Will drew in a breath in spite of himself. _Of course. A test. It’s always a test with him._ He hated to admit that had he been on top of his game, he would’ve foreseen Hannibal’s intentions before he had even entered the room. “I should’ve known,” he admitted, his eyes drawn to the small trickle of blood creeping across the dinner plate. “But I’ve never known you to kill with a gun before, Hannibal.”

“Bedelia has been dying for some time now. I simply put her out of her misery,” Hannibal reasoned. “Her death being inevitable, there was no need for her to suffer. It was truly the most humane course of action, and I thank you for your part in making it possible,” he said, as he carefully unloaded the gun.

“So much for trust,” Will remarked drily, watching as Hannibal pocketed the bullets and set the empty gun aside.

“I trust you Will,” Hannibal replied, finally settling down into his own seat. “However, your innate sense of morality, malleable though it may be, admittedly gives me some pause.”

“I haven’t tried to escape,” Will pointed out. He didn’t know why he should feel slighted by Hannibal’s statement, yet the feeling was there all the same. “I haven’t even attempted to call for help, although I knew you were here the moment I woke up.” He felt his eyes returning to Bedelia’s limp form. “I knew she was here, and I instantly knew what you had done to her. I could smell it.”

Hannibal gave the barest hint of a positive response that would’ve been imperceptible to anyone other than Will Graham.

“I smelled it,” Will continued, his eyes returning to Hannibal. “And my fucking mouth watered. My stomach growled. And instead of trying to get help or trying to escape, I came downstairs.” He sighed. “I’m not sure how much morality I have left at this point.”

“You picked up the gun,” Hannibal reminded him. “Gastronomical responses aside, you had the presence of mind to prepare yourself for a confrontation, should the need arise.”

“I picked it up because it was there,” Will countered. “And it was only there because you put it there, as a test of my loyalty. Did I pass?”

Hannibal observed Will for a long moment before speaking. “I have no interest in testing your loyalty Will. Your loyalty was never in question. Only your intentions,” he explained. “Which at this moment are likely unclear even to yourself.”

Will drew in another breath. He could feel the gears turning in his mind, his overdeveloped sense of adaptation finally beginning to awaken after laying dormant for so long. Hannibal was right. It wouldn’t do to deny any of it. “Right now, my only intention is to eat.” He picked up the fork.

Out of the corner of his eye, Will once again noticed the reaction that anyone else would’ve missed. Hannibal was pleased. _How could he not be?_ To him this must represent a significant milestone in their strange relationship. Unlike the previous occasions upon which Will had dined unwittingly upon human flesh, this was a conscious decision. A choice that had been willingly made and which to Hannibal must have serious ramifications.

As Will lifted the forkful of meat to his lips, he wondered whether or not this moment meant as much as Hannibal seemed to believe. After all, he was hungry. There was no way of knowing when he had last eaten anything that wasn’t delivered intravenously. His empty stomach clenched and coiled in on itself like a living thing. He was also weak. Even with the gun his chances had been slight at best, and without the gun there was absolutely no possibility of winning a confrontation with Hannibal. There were simply too many unknown variables to reliably calculate a course of action. The only certainty was that he was famished and this was food, however unpleasant its acquisition might have been.

He ate.

“How is it?” Hannibal asked after a few minutes had passed.

Will couldn’t help smirking inwardly. Another certainty he knew was that Hannibal’s vanity would not be able to resist the desire to know what his companion thought about their meal. “Very good,” he admitted. “It reminds me of pork, except mildly gamey and,” he glanced reflexively at Bedelia. “Slightly bitter.”

Hannibal followed Will’s gaze and let out a rueful sigh. “I tried my best to entirely remove the taste of fear from the meat, but I am afraid that poor Bedelia had been living in quite a state ever since the news of my escape. Her inability to let her guard down did irreversible damage to the sweetening process that had begun in Florence.”

“Still seems acceptable to me,” Will said, trying not to think about the horrifying scope of their conversation. “If she never let her guard down, how were you able to capture her?”

“I have known Bedelia for many years. Even in her fear, she remained quite predictable,” Hannibal replied. “I intercepted her at the airport shortly before her planned departure.”

Another gear shifted in Will’s mind. _So then we’re still in the US._ The likelihood that Hannibal had somehow managed to smuggle the three of them abroad was nigh impossible. “Oh?” he said, taking another bite.

Hannibal sighed for a second time, which was the most that Will had ever seen in his recollection. “I am sure that you have many questions, which I will be more than happy to answer, provided you finish your meal first. It would be a shame to let such sacrifice go to waste.”

They dined in a comfortable silence, which in and of itself was unnerving to Will. It shouldn’t feel right that this happen, and yet it felt more than right. It felt natural. It felt as though everything that had occurred during the past few years had been leading up to this moment. The silent unmasking of dual identities, while casually enjoying the most forbidden of fruit. 

The dessert was suitably decadent. A glossy chocolate confection with raspberry liqueur that Will had to admit was delicious, even as his eyes kept flitting over to the mass of blonde hair at the opposite end of the table. The IV stand stood useless, the futility of providing fluids at this point almost comical. Will remembered the emptiness of the room that he had woken up in. There had been no medical devices of any kind. _He meant for me to wake up tonight._

Sensing that Will’s mind was beginning its work, Hannibal stood up, pushing his chair back with all the silence of an unrivaled apex predator. “I deduce by your pensive expression that you are ready to discuss the circumstances of your stay. Come.” He turned and began to walk from the room without waiting to see if Will would follow.

Will could feel a more than slight pang of annoyance. Not so much at being expected to follow without question, but because he knew that he would. Hannibal was right. He had questions that needed answering. Only then could he begin trying to figure out just how much trouble he was in. He pushed back his own chair, not bothering to be quiet about it, and followed Hannibal’s path out of the dining room. 

The long hallway was decorated with a number of oil paintings, which under different circumstances Will might’ve felt compelled to examine. But for now, the only thing that interested him was reacquainting himself with his place in the world. 

The far end of the hallway opened into a mid-sized parlor. _More oil paintings._ Will’s eyes briefly flitted around the room, taking in the details. A crackling fireplace provided both light and welcomed warmth, confirming Will’s suspicion that they must be currently in the winter months. The tall windows were covered with heavy fabric draperies, their dark plaid pattern striking yet repellent. 

“This isn’t one of the houses that you own,” Will remarked.

“Of course not,” Hannibal responded. “However, I am not presently at the liberty of redecorating.” He settled down into one of the pair of tan leather chairs facing the fireplace. “The kitchen I find particularly offensive, yet I managed to make it suit my purposes.”

After another moment’s examination, Will sat down in the other tan chair. Once again he was unnerved by how easy it all felt. As though they were two old friends reminiscing over drinks. “No more wine?” he quipped, needing to bring his thoughts to life.

“Would you like some?” Hannibal asked. “Although I feel that it would be inadvisable for you to indulge too much, considering that you have only just returned to full consciousness.”

 _So I was right about that,_ Will mused. “How long have I been asleep?”

“You were in a medically induced coma for six months,” Hannibal responded. When Will did not appear to be disturbed by the revelation, he continued. “Your injuries were far too severe, and I very well could not have taken you to a hospital.”

“You could’ve,” Will countered. “You just didn’t want to.”

“No, I did not,” Hannibal agreed. “There would’ve been no point. I was more than capable of treating you in much the same way.” He paused, considering. “Actually, that is inaccurate. They would’ve treated you far worse.” He fixed his inscrutable gaze on Will. “You were considered a wanted criminal, suspected of aiding in my escape and complicit in the death of multiple law enforcement officers, in addition to the murder of Francis Dolarhyde.” 

Will gave a weary shrug. “That’s one version of events. Not necessarily the most truthful.”

“They do not care about the truth,” Hannibal continued. “Had I returned you to them, and had you somehow survived their ineptitude, you would currently be handcuffed to your bed, all the while subjected to incessant visits from Jack Crawford, Dr. Bloom, Ms. Lounds, and possibly even Dr. Chilton, if only so that he may laugh at your misfortune to distract from his own.”

Will didn’t miss that his companion had deliberately chosen to omit his wife and step-son from the potential list of visitors. _Better to know sooner than later._ “Hannibal,” Will sighed. “Is my family alive?”

“Yes,” Hannibal replied. “They are alive and well.”

Will only felt a slight relief at the news, which in itself was troubling. His relief should’ve been more significant. _Have I fallen so far already?_ Not wanting to dwell on this freshly disturbing implication, he pressed on. “So you brought me here instead. Where exactly are we?”

“Nova Scotia.” 

Will blinked. Now that had been unexpected. Of all the places that Hannibal could’ve spirited him off to, the maritime province of Nova Scotia had never even entered his consideration. He knew that he must be staring at Hannibal with obvious shock.

“As I said,” Hannibal reiterated. “Your injuries were severe. I knew that you would need a significant recovery period, and that your survival would depend upon finding a quiet place suited to your particular constitution.”

“And somewhere the FBI wouldn’t think to come looking for you,” Will cut in.

“That goes without saying,” Hannibal replied, a slight hint of testiness creeping into his tone. “This home belonged to a former colleague of mine. He retired from his work as a physician to begin a new life as a landscapes painter.” He cast a disdainful glance at the art on the walls. “He was in all respects, perfectly mediocre.”

 _Was._ “Did you kill him?” Will asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yes. Does that bother you?”

“No,” Will admitted. “It doesn’t.” He looked down at his hands, studying them. The glow from the firelight illuminated his fingers, as he flexed them, examining their flawless movement. “You said that I was in a coma for six months. How am I able to move?”

“I rehabilitated you,” Hannibal replied, as though the answer should be perfectly obvious. “I spent several hours each day manipulating your muscles to prevent atrophy. As I said, far better care than you would’ve received at any hospital.” He watched as Will continued to test his body, flexing his feet in turn. 

“What about the drugs and the medical supplies?” Will asked, even though he knew that he mightn’t have even bothered. Hannibal’s resourcefulness defied comprehension. Whatever he wanted, he would get. _Myself included._

“Hardly the first time I have walked into a hospital to retrieve what I needed without question.” Hannibal glanced at the fireplace. “You and I both know that humans generally do not notice their surroundings or the people in it, if there is no immediate benefit for themselves. I was able to obtain everything without even taking a single life.”

 _I’m sure that bit was included for my benefit,_ Will thought wryly. “How many lives have you taken over the past six months?”

“What number would best appease you?” Hannibal asked, turning his gaze back to Will. “Tell me, at what amount would your sense of morality become offended? Is there such a number? Is there a line that has not yet been crossed? A point at which you will have simply had enough?”

Will rolled his eyes. “So much for being happy to answer my questions.” He dropped his hands into his lap and settled back into the chair.

“You are only playing at asking,” Hannibal informed him. “Ask me what you truly wish to know Will.”

“Am I a prisoner here?” Will said finally.

“No,” Hannibal replied. “You are free to leave if you choose. I will not keep you here by force, and if you leave I will not pursue you.” He allowed a brief glimpse of a smile. “I do not even harbor any resentment for your attempt to take my life by pulling me off the cliff.”

Will sat up, knowing that he was being goaded, but unable to help it. “I wasn’t trying to take your life. I was dying and you were the closest thing that I could hold onto to ground myself.” The confession was damning. All he had been looking for was some measure of comfort in his final moments. The fact that Hannibal should be the thing which gave him comfort was by far the most unsettling realization of all. He had entertained no wistful thought of seeing his family again, nor felt any drive for vengeance. His only impulse had been to hold onto this man as his life slipped away. “Your presence gave me the strength to accept my death without fear,” he admitted, his voice only barely audible over the crackling fire. 

“And now that you are neither dead nor dying?” Hannibal questioned, his eyes studying Will.

“I don’t know,” Will admitted. “But I’m not planning to go anywhere tonight.” He experimentally flexed his thighs, for the first time more consciously aware of the movement of his own body. “So I guess if you end up killing me in my sleep, I’ll only have myself to blame.” 

Now it was Hannibal’s turn to be goaded, and even though he knew what Will was doing, he still felt compelled to respond accordingly. “If I had intended to for you to die, I would’ve abandoned you to the sea, as the FBI believes I did.”

“Is that what Jack Crawford believes?” Will asked, unable to resist. For a moment he was certain that he was about to earn a record-breaking number of sighs, but Hannibal simply gave him a chilling smile.

“There are times when I feel that Jack Crawford would not accept the possibility of your death, even if I were to vivisect and display your corpse upon his desk.”

“Something you think about often?” Will quipped, even though Hannibal was still regarding him with the same skin-crawling intensity. That gaze was confirmation that killing him was never far from his thoughts, regardless of the tenuous truce they now enjoyed. For all of Bedelia’s prior insistence that Hannibal was in love with him, Will knew that at his core the other man was a predator through and through. 

Hannibal shifted almost imperceptibly in his chair. “Amongst other eventualities.”

“I don’t think Jack is the only one who refuses to accept the possibility of my death,” Will said, well-aware that he was pushing now and sooner or later Hannibal would undoubtedly push back. “Does my family believe that I’m dead?”

“Without question. Your funeral was held less than a week after the incident. It was a well-attended affair.”

“Did you go?”

“Of course not,” Hannibal replied, favoring Will with a bored glance. “What reason should I have to watch them all commiserating around an empty grave? I am not that sentimental. At any rate, news of the event was inescapable.” 

“Let me guess,” Will sighed. “Freddie Lounds wrote a feature on it?” He shook his head. “Sometimes I wish that I really had…” he trailed off, sensing Hannibal’s sudden interest in his words. His false murder of the journalist had served as the catalyst for a particularly brutal retaliation after all. Will was uncertain if that betrayal would ever be entirely forgiven, despite assurances. It was a subject best left untouched for now, perhaps forever.

“Ms. Lounds is no longer amongst the living,” Hannibal announced.

“Did you eat her?” Will asked. Once again he was treated to the iciness of one of Hannibal’s rare smiles.

“Ms. Lounds perished as a result of burn injuries sustained in an incendiary car accident,” Hannibal replied, his solemn tone at odds with his contented expression. “I am afraid that by the time they found her, she bore quite a strong resemblance to the unfortunate Mr. Chilton.”

Will could see it in his mind, as perfectly as though he had been standing there. The car barreling down the street, flames pouring from the interior, illuminating the night in a way that was equal parts beautiful and horrifying. “Not very subtle of you.”

Hannibal made a movement that could only barely be described as a shrug. “Would a wheelchair have been more appropriate? That was your design Will, also borrowed by Dolarhyde. I felt that repeating the stunt a third time would’ve been trite.”

Will shook his head, clearing the image from his thoughts. _Well that’s one less person for him to kill._ “What about Alana? Frederick? Jack?”

Hannibal raised an eyebrow. “It should please you to hear that they are all presently alive and well, although I suppose that their wellness may be subjective.”

Will absorbed the knowledge with a comforting numbness. It honestly no longer mattered who was still alive. That life no longer belonged to him, if he chose to remain here. _Assuming that was even an option._ He still didn’t know what Hannibal wanted from him, if the man even knew himself.

“Ask,” Hannibal spoke up, cutting through the tangle of Will’s thoughts with unflinching authoritativeness. “I can see the question dancing around behind your eyes. Ask it.”

“Why didn’t you just leave me to die?” Will blurted out. “I was dying, and you were free, so why…” He sighed. “Why bother? Why not just leave me to the sea?”

Hannibal shifted in his chair, clearly both expecting and disappointed by this line of questioning. “If you had died then, it would’ve been at the hands of Francis Dolarhyde,” he answered, not bothering to hide the note of disgust in his tone. “I am sure I don’t have to explain to you why that would be unacceptable.”

“You always knew that was a possibility,” Will argued. “You knew that we both probably weren’t going to make it out of that house alive, whether or not we killed him, or he killed us.”

“Death comes for us all in the end,” Hannibal agreed. “If it were necessary for me to die that night, I would have accepted it. When neither the bullet, nor the fall were able to kill me, I determined that it was not necessary for me to die. In which case, why should it have been necessary for you?” He glanced at the fire again. “I admit, you appeared to have a differing opinion on the matter.”

Will leaned forward in the chair, intrigued. “How many times did you have to revive me?”

“Three.”

Will could see it in his mind’s eye, the pieces falling into place, whether from memory or projection he couldn’t yet tell. He could see himself being dragged ashore by Hannibal, sprawled limply upon the cold hard ground, drenched and pale. He could see Hannibal performing CPR with brutal efficiency, his resolve unwavering even as the situation seemed beyond salvaging, subconsciously weighing the certainty of his own survival against the unlikelihood of Will’s. 

Will lifted a hand from his lap to settle experimentally at his chest, feeling for differentiation in the bones. “You broke my ribs?”

“Of course.”

Will could almost visualize it perfectly now, the sense of relief Hannibal had felt once he had taken that first breath, his first tentative step back to life. Only to have been forced to relive his panic an additional two times, if he were even capable of panic. _Whatever he must’ve felt, it had to have been unpleasant._

“I considered killing you myself more than once,” Hannibal admitted. “At first I was uncertain whether I could help you, and if you were to die it would be better at my hand, but once I was certain that you could survive, I was determined that you would.”

Will felt his chest again, a brief glimpse of a needle filled with adrenaline being plunged into his heart flitting through his mind. He could distantly feel the movement of a car as Hannibal drove them somewhere, undoubtedly the first of many stops along their journey up the coast. He winced, recalling having his bandages snatched off and replaced hurriedly, the memory of an unbearable pain forming along the edges of his mind.

Hannibal observed Will with interest, correctly guessing that the process which had aided the other man so often in his career was once again serving to fill in the blanks. “You have stopped asking questions.”

“I think I’ve heard enough for now,” Will said quietly, forcing himself to return to the present. “I’d like to lie down for a bit.”

Hannibal made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “You are not a prisoner Will, as I have already informed you. You may do as you wish.” He rose from his chair finally, turning to face Will. “As for myself, I need to clear the dishes.”

 _Not to mention dispose of the body._ Will rose to his own feet, his mind still churning. 

“I presume you know the way back to your room,” Hannibal added, without waiting for a response. He left the room, his movement as silent as ever.

The message was apparent, this was his way out. There would not be a second chance. Will felt it with startling clarity. For all of Hannibal’s insistence that he wouldn’t pursue him if he chose to leave, Will feared that it was a time-limited offer, subject to change if Hannibal’s whims allowed. If he left now, he might actually make it back to Virginia alive. Six months was not so great a length of time that he would be forced to start over. He could easily pick up where he had left off, resume the existence he had known. Having been legally declared dead would make regaining his property a pain in the ass, but it was all waiting for him if he chose to claim it. 

_But if I stay…_ Will could see it, the yoke closing around his neck, the rope which bound him to Hannibal, manifesting in his mind. _If I stay tonight, he might never let me go again._ And then another thought, even more disturbing. _If I don’t go now, I may never want to leave again._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated!


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